


Heart of Gold

by rooneykmara



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-09 15:57:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11107908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rooneykmara/pseuds/rooneykmara
Summary: Collection of drabbles and ficlets.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> gettingovergreta requested #34 from the drabble list over on Tumblr: “He creeped me out. I’m not gonna lie.”

“What did you think of him when you first met him?”

“He creeped me out. I’m not gonna lie,” Molly admitted. 

“Oh, that’s excellent. Was it the suits? The unbearable poshness? The frequent ‘deductions’?” Alicia Smallwood leaned towards Molly in interest. 

“Nah. I think it was the umbrella. Why does he carry it around when it’s not raining?”

“You two do realize I can hear you, right?” Mycroft called from the other room, where he was currently embroiled with Sherlock in a Operation tournament. _The_ Operation Tournament. Hailed as the tournament to end all tournaments and the final series of games to crown the true ‘Operation Champion’ for once and for all, the brothers had been playing non-stop for the last three hours at 221B.

In the meantime, Molly and Alicia were fast becoming friends over (several) bottles of wine. 

“Yup,” Molly giggled while turning back to Alicia and topping up her wine glass. 

“Deal with it, Mycroft. You’re creepy.” Sherlock smirked while carefully wrestling the plastic ice cream cone piece out of the brain. 

“Is that so? Well then Dr. Hooper, what did you think of Sherlock when you first met him?”

“Oh, I thought he was an arrogant git. A hot, arrogant git though,” Molly qualified while throwing a wink to him. 

Sherlock grinned. “That’s my girl.“ 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> themptyquarto requested #58 for the drabble list over on Tumblr: “I’m just a guy with a wife, two kids, and a Harley.”

“I have a case in the East End that requires your assistance. It will involve some undercover work.”

Molly turned to Sherlock, who had suddenly spoken up after hours of working quietly. “Are you asking me to come? What’s the case?”

“A local tattoo parlour has discovered that someone switched out their tattoo inks with bottles that have a toxin in them. Five customers have so far been affected, and have developed rashes at the site of the tattoo. No one knows how the ink could have been compromised however– most likely an inside attempt to sabotage the parlour’s business. The manager asked me to join as a new employee to find the guilty party and prevent them from trying again.”

“Ok, but what would I be needed for? No one is even dead for me to examine.”

Sherlock didn’t meet her eyes, and instead fidgeted with something in his hand. “I’ll have to live in a flat in the area for a few days, maybe even a week. The parlour employees are a suspicious group and may follow me home.”

She frowned. “That still doesn’t answer my question, Sherlock. Why am I coming?”

He finally looked up, and affecting an East End accent she had never thought would ever exit Sherlock Holmes’ mouth said, “Sherlock? Who’s Sherlock? My name’s Jack, princess. I’m just a guy with a wife, 2 kids, and a Harley. Might want to come up with a couple of names for those kids actually. The Harley’s waiting outside.”

“Wait. What?”

Sherlock came forward and pushed something into her hand. With a press of his lips to her cheek and a salute, he sauntered out. She looked down and in her hand, an engagement ring and wedding band glittered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The accent and Sherlock calling Molly “princess” is a nod to the amazing series by hobbitsdoitbetter called The Be-Bop-A-Sherlock series, which I adore (seriously, go read it you haven’t yet!).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stlgeekgirl requested #103 from the drabble list over on Tumblr: “Sharing is caring. Now give me your fries*.” *Changed to chips.

“All I want is a full night’s sleep. That can’t possibly be too much to ask for. She has an uncanny ability of knowing exactly when we’re about to nod off, and then in that second starts up like an alarm, the little devil…” Mary sighed.

“Rosie does have a hearty set of lungs on her,” Molly agreed sympathetically. “Well, if you ever need a break, I would be more than happy to take her for a night. Let you get some sleep.”

“Oh thank you, Molls. Maybe soon. I’m just so grateful for this lunch. Grown up conversation is such a blessing, you have no idea,” Mary smiled, leaning back in her stool against the wall of the chip shop.  

“No problem,” Molly grinned. “Grown up conversation is sadly absent in my life as well. I spent my day at work yesterday arguing with Sherlock about the Pirates of the Caribbean films… he has surprisingly strong feelings about them.”

“The series would have been much better if Barbossa had been the lead. He had a stronger grasp on several technical aspects of the pirate lifestyle.” Like magic as though conjured by the mention of his name, Sherlock had materialized at Molly’s elbow, and in that same move, grabbed a whole fistful of chips from her basket and stuffed it into his mouth. Confusingly, he was also dressed like an elderly public school headmaster, in a tie and dark brown suit in lieu of his standard dress, and a wig with streaks of grey to complete the look atop his head. 

Blinking at his sudden and strange appearance (and ability to swallow with barely any chewing), Molly finally snapped out of it. “Sherlock! That’s my lunch!”

“Sharing is caring. Now give me your chips. I’ve been following that woman,” he motioned towards a woman with cat-eye glasses and a sea shell patterned cardigan seated across the shop, “At the request of her colleagues. She’s suspected of embezzling funds from several charity fundraisers.”

“Why are you eating if you’re on a case?”

“Chips are an exception. The blend of carbohydrates and fats is perfectly calibrated for my system so that it’s readily digestible and doesn’t interfere with brainwork.”

“That’s a load of crap and you know it. Also what do you know about caring, Mr. Caring is Not An Advantage?” Molly countered.

“Well, sharing chips can’t possibly be an advantage. So my point still stands.”

“Why should I share my chips with you then?” Molly asked, confused as always by his circular reasoning.

“Must dash now. The suspect’s on the move. Here, for the chips.”

And with a nod to Mary and a toss of some notes onto the table, he left in a (somewhat more hunched and slower) whirl.

Mary was looking at the notes on the table. “Molly, he left nearly 50 quid here…”

“Oh, he’s always doing that.”

“What?”

“At first, I thought he was just really terrible at keeping track of money. But now I think it’s his roundabout way of paying for rent for using my flat as a bolthole, maybe? But yeah, he leaves money everywhere— I’ve found notes bundled up in the dial of the microscope in the lab, wads in my socks in my dresser, even a thousand pounds once underneath Toby’s cat bed… thankfully, Toby hadn’t found the cash yet, or it would have been shredded.”

“I tried to return the money to him a few times, but he always ends up either mysteriously disappearing after I bring it up, or I find even more hidden in even stranger locations. Sometimes I wonder who would win if Sherlock and Toby had a hiding competition…” Molly looked up from her musing to find Mary looking at her with a Cheshire-sized grin on her face. “Wait, what’s so funny? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing! No reason. Just ya know. Like he said,” Mary snorted, laughing at something in her head. The sleep deprivation must have finally gotten to her, the poor woman. “Sharing is caring.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to send me prompts here or on Tumblr and I'll see if the inspiration strikes!:) The title for the collection comes from the song of the same name by Birdy (seriously, the most Sherlolly-est of songs).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> theemptyquarto requested #117 from the new drabble list: “She’s 6, how can she scare you?”

“Sherlock, when Rosie asks us for a pony, that does not mean we actually get her the pony!”

“And it definitely does not mean that we _steal_ the pony!”

Sherlock peered over the top of the fence as he searched across the pasture. “Molly, as I previously mentioned, we’re not stealing. We’re borrowing. I helped the owner out of a tricky spot a few years ago. The only problem is that he’s not here right now and the stable hand that he left in charge is refusing my request to borrow the horse. I can’t get in touch with the owner either. We’ll just take it for the day and return it.”

“Anyways, I can’t go back on my promise. I already promised her the pony and shudder to think how she would react if it wasn’t there.”

“She’s 6, how can she scare you?”

“Have you met her?”

“Yeeeess…?” Molly responded, baffled. “Blue eyes? Curly hair? Our goddaughter? Yes, I believe I have made her acquaintance. We can’t do this. John would kill us.”

“John I can handle. Watson may hold a grudge and throw quite a spectacular tantrum.” He turned to her with a soft smile that internally made her groan and realize that she was now going to have to add horse-napping to her rap sheet. “Don’t you think we she should do this for her after everything she did to make sure that tomorrow would come to pass?”

Molly sighed. “I’ll go find the stable hand and distract him.”

The next day, surrounded by family and friends, no one’s smile was bigger than the flower girl’s, as she tossed flower petals off her perch atop the pony at her godparents’ wedding.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> waiting-to-be-distributed requested #81 from the new drabble list over on Tumblr: “Excuse me for falling in love with you.” This one turned out a bit long!

After the events at Sherrinford, everything eventually, gradually returned to normal. In the days and then weeks following the strangest phone call of her life, after Sherlock had explained that her life had literally hinged (or so he thought at the time) on her saying those three words, there was at first some awkwardness between the two of them, but then this eventually eased into the familiarity they had shared before.

Except however for an additional degree of… _proximity_.

At first, Molly thought she must have been imagining it. Everywhere she went, Sherlock eventually arrived shortly afterwards, and seemed almost irritated that she hadn’t let him know in advance that she was going to be there. When the two of them walked down the Barts corridors, he would make it a habit to place a hand at the small of her back or an arm around her shoulders, and when they worked in the lab he would follow her around (with an air of attempted subtletly) to the point that she could constantly feel him brush up against her. If she turned around rapidly, he was there, so within her personal space that she would have to push him by the shoulders to get by.

Confused by his persistent, sudden closeness, and knowing that he would never cop to it directly, Molly realized that she would have to set a trap to catch him in the act of stalking her.

Without telling anyone in advance except for Mike Stamford (who swore to her that he would not tell Sherlock), Molly arranged a weekend off to travel to the countryside. It had been ages since she had taken any holiday leave, and with the recent stresses and events of the past year (that had led to her discovering a few grey hairs on her head that she would deny the existence of to anyone who asked as well as herself), some time away seemed like a good idea.

And served as a perfect trap for Sherlock.

When she arrived at the cottage that weekend, pulling her luggage behind her and fumbling with the keys as she struggled to remember which one was for the front door, it swung open before she could even insert the key into the lock.

“What took you so long?”

Sherlock leaned against the door, and beyond him Molly could see his own luggage in the hallway.

“What are you doing here, Sherlock? And what exactly has been going on? You’re always around, always just… there. I can’t go anywhere anymore without you suddenly showing up and…” Here Molly fumbled with her words, not quite sure how to convey her thoughts but knowing she had to get it out before she lost her nerve, “You’re always so _close_.”

“Excuse me for falling in love with you,” he muttered. “I thought that frequent  communication, physical affection, and shared activities were pillars of a satisfying romantic relationship. I should have known that John would give absolutely rubbish advice.”

Molly blinked. “What romantic relationship?”

Suddenly, Sherlock appeared particulary agitated. “Ours?”

Molly wondered if she had suddenly entered the Twilight Zone, where Sherlock Holmes was the one describing an imaginary romantic relationship between the two of them. “We don’t have a romantic relationship.”

“Of course we do! We confessed our feelings months ago!”

“You mean that phone call set up by the sister that you didn’t know you had where she threatened to blow me up if I didn’t say ‘I love you’? You said that was all nothing more than just a game for her.”

“For her, yes. But I never said that those words were a game or a ruse for me. I thought you would have seen that it was obvious that I meant them, as I didn’t deny the sentiment.”

“What? I was supposed to know you meant them just because you didn’t _deny_ the words? And since then we’ve apparently been in a relationship?”

Sherlock frowned. “I suppose now that you put it like that, it might not have been a logical assumption to make…”

“You think?”

He looked past her for a moment and huffed out a breath in exasperation. “Well then, does it really matter? Let’s put this behind us. Now to be perfectly clear, and if it’s not objectionable to you, I love you, you love me, and we are now in a relationship…thing. And the next time you feel the urge to skip town at a moment’s notice, I would really like to be informed beforehand. Mycroft becomes insufferably smug whenever I ask him for your location.

“However, I must say you’ve picked an excellent place for this holiday. There are some bee farms in the area that I thought we could take a look at, in particular one that keeps a hive of _Apis cerana_ …”

Molly shook her head in defeat as she smiled and entered the cottage, closing the door behind her.


End file.
